


Safety in Numbers

by TriscuitsandSoup



Series: We, Our, Us [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Canon-Typical Violence, Cuddling, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Stiles Has Nightmares, Stiles Has Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 09:22:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7429213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriscuitsandSoup/pseuds/TriscuitsandSoup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris Argent, Stiles Stilinski, and Peter Hale were sleeping together, but not for the reasons that were assumed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safety in Numbers

Chris Argent, Peter Hale, and Stiles Stilinski were sleeping together. It was a fact that no one could deny. They arrived in a trio to every meeting with their eyelids drooping, their shoulders sagged, and a plentiful supply of yawns to go around.

The pack would give them little shifting glances. Erica would smirk and make a lewd comment. 

Stiles would wink at her and give a vague response about how they'd been up 'researching,' which got a few chuckles now and again. 

The truth was, they were sleeping together, but not for the reasons that were assumed. 

It started on an unremarkable night. Peter and Stiles were pouring over the multitude of tomes the Argent family had collected over the years. As midnight came and went the pair of eyes grew weary and eventually they closed.

Stiles twitching, fidgeting body went still and limp against the sofa. 

Peters pointed looks turned dull and listless, before finally his head lolled against the back of the chair and his lids shut.

Chris looked at them, sleeping so peacefully in the dim lighting of his living room. Admittedly, he liked seeing the room a little less barren. The small sounds of life, Stiles breathing, Peters subtle snores, they made him feel less lonely. So he let them slumber. He put the books back into a neat pile and turned off the light. The sounds of solemnity could be suffocating, but the knowledge that others were present, just a few rooms away kept the suffocation at bay. 

It didn't last long. Peter awoke the two humans with his snarl, so loud and full of pain it shook Chris violently from his own turbulent dreams. He almost tripped over his own feet while he raced down the stairs. 

In the living room Stiles had his hands clasped around Peters shoulders. The wolf was awake but unresponsive to his touch. Stiles shook him harder but Peters fangs continued to bare. His eyes were icy, blue, and unnatural. 

Chris opened his mouth to shout instructions. He was about to tell Stiles to back away and give him space. The last thing he wanted was to see the kid get bitten due to mistaken identity. 

Then Stiles kissed Peter. Suddenly and without warning he closed the space between them and placed his lips solidly over the snarling mouth of the werewolf. 

Peter jerked back. His eyes remained wide, but the delirium ended. His iced eyes faded back to their natural hue. His fangs disappeared into his gums. His chest was pounding. His eyes flitted about the room in confusion. A slow recognition spread across his face when he saw Chris standing on the staircase. 

“Hi,” Stiles breathed when he pulled away. 

“. . . . Hi,” said Peter. The two looked at each other. 

“Are you okay?” Stiles asked. His hands still gripped the weres shoulders. 

“Are you going to get off me?” The wolves voice was tender in a way Chris had never heard before, perhaps it was from the raw emotions still coursing through his mind. Peter pushed the human away with a feeble shove. Stiles moved back to sit against the armrest. He drew his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. Peter had to move his legs to one side to accommodate Stiles feet on the cushion. 

“Are you okay?” Stiles repeated. 

“I’m fine,” Peter said as he straightened up. Even without the supernatural hearing Chris could see the rapid rising and falling of his chest as his breathing struggled to return to normal.

“You had a panic attack. I get them too.” Stiles said it as plainly as if they were discussing the weather. 

“I _had_ a panic attack. I’m fine now,” Peter waved him off, but the hand he raised was shaking. 

“Okay,” Stiles said. “But you know, it’d be okay if you weren’t. I won't judge you.”

“But I _am_ , so step off it.” Peter growled. His shoulders hunched. 

Chris stepped off the final stair and approached the pair, catching Stiles attention. The boy looked up at him. His dark eyes were pensive, with shadowy lines formed underneath. There was a tiny tremble in his lips. His fingers twitched. From the way he sat on the armrest he looked like a little owl. The sleeves of his oversized hoodie spread out to look like wings that shielded him from the rest of the world. 

Over the past few weeks Chris began to notice more and more that Stiles rarely let any part of his skin go exposed. Even on the hottest of days he wore long sleeved shirts and jeans. He wondered if he was merely self-conscious, or if it was a subconscious way of defending himself from claws, arrows, knives, and bullets that frequently came to threaten him. 

“Are you okay, Stiles?” asked Chris. He put his hand down on the space between his shoulder blades. 

“No,” Stiles said with a sharp, bitter laugh. The honest sound made him and Peter jump. “I’m not okay. I feel like I haven't slept in days, and I keep worrying that every tree scraping against the window is an omega coming to tear my throat out.” 

Peter looked back at Stiles with a guarded expression. 

Chris's frown deepened. 

“This house is protected against things like that,” he said. “You don't have to worry about someone breaking in here.” 

“Even if it weren't, I'd protect you.” Peter didn't look at them when he said it. He looked at the window, to where the imaginary omega plagued Stiles mind. 

Stiles smiled meekly. “Thanks, but I don't think any of us can protect anyone the way we look now. I don't think you guys have been sleeping anymore than I have.” He rested his head down on his knees.

“So then,” Chris cleared his throat. “Maybe we should try sleeping together?” 

Peter raised a brow. “Are you suggesting we have a-” 

“You know what I mean,” Chris interrupted before he could finish. “In the same room. There's safety in numbers.” It was his turn to feel self-conscious as he suggested it. Stiles was half his age and Peter was a lone wolf evil villain archetype. He didn't know how they'd feel about the proposed slumber party. 

Peter slumped against the chair and dropped his head into his hand. “If it helps me get some rest, then I'm all for it. I do need my beauty sleep, you know. I'd hate to deprive the two of you of such a lovely sight.” 

“Oh, I haven't been to a slumber party in ages.” Stiles hummed. “I'll make popcorn.”

From there they slowly progressed from just sleeping in the same room, to eventually in the same bed, and finally, curled up in each others arms. It was a long process but it felt natural. No one could say when they went from being just cuddle buddies to actually being in a relationship. Over time the amount of things in the house that belonged to people other than him steadily grew. While getting dressed he had to brush past Peter and Stiles sections of the closet to find his own clothing. At some point, kisses became common, and spending the night turned less platonic. 

There was some unspoken rule that they wouldn't tell the pack what was really happening. They came to their own conclusions and that was fine. None of them were brave enough to ask Peter, or curious enough to approach Chris. Stiles was the one who had to deal with the questions, comments, and concerns. He did it by being delightfully vague. 

The nights were still hard for all of them. Stiles saw the saw the fangs and claws, the biological weapons of a species far more powerful than his own. Behind Peters eyes danced flames, and in his ears he heard the sounds of his screaming family he could never reach. Chris felt the blood that stained his hands as the last life drained from his wife's eyes. When the images in his mind grew so dark that his feet began to kick and his shoulders began to shake either Stiles, or Peter, or both would wake him and in turn he did the same for them. 

The nights were awful, but the mornings promised peace. 

The sticky feeling receded from Chris' hands as soft fingers of the morning breeze brushed against his cheek. Peter finally managed to open his eyes again as the chirping of the birds scared away the screams. Stiles let out a breath of relief as the images in his mind were quickly replaced by the calming scene of the sun creeping in through the window. Finally the three could relax, and for a few, blissful hours they could sleep. 

There was safety in numbers, and three was the strongest number of all.


End file.
